Start of Something New
by easytodancewith
Summary: Ryan Evans/Troy Bolton. If there were no Gabriella, "Twinkle Towne," or merging peer groups, would Troy and Ryan ever have crossed paths on their own?
1. Chapter 1

Ryan's been choreographing the yearly musicale since freshman year of high school. Ms. Darbus was so pleased to find not one but _two_ students with more than a passing interest in the dramatic arts that she put them straight to work – Sharpay as the lead, Ryan as choreographer. Ever since then, he's spent most of his weekdays (and a number of weekends inversely proportional to the countdown to the final rehearsal) cooped up in the auditorium, tapping out beats and demonstrating moves, once in a while correcting someone's pronunciation of a French dance step until he learns that it's really not worth his while to even give them their proper names, and a well placed "left shimmy" will work just as well.

After rehearsal is over, he'll walk outside and wait for Sharpay to finish preening herself in her dressing room. He really wants a Vespa so he can drive home anytime he wants, but his parents say maybe when he's older. They're worried about the safety of the thing. They offered him his own car, like Sharpay's, but he's not into owning something so big and flashy. A modest little moped, powder blue, perhaps, but not monogrammed or anything like that, will do him just fine.

On the days when Sharpay takes absolutely _ages_ (which is most of the time), Ryan is still waiting in the parking lot when the basketball team's practice ends. He avoids and resents the jocks because of their attitudes and the judging _looks_ that come his way whenever he happens to pass them in the hallways, so unsurprisingly, he doesn't pay attention to basketball matches or tournaments or whatever it is they're called, but he gathers that the Wildcats are pretty successful – rightfully so, in his opinion, because the boys always come out with a sheen of sweat glistening off their bodies, so they've obviously been working hard. Not that Ryan's looking.

By the time they come out, he's usually sitting on the back of Sharpay's car. She gives him her keys so he can turn off the alarm system, and typically he reads: Keats, Hemingway, the occasional play. He likes Henrik Ibsen and August Wilson, and he really appreciates Native American poetry too. He'll read Joy Harjo and Mary TallMountain and beg Sharpay to drive him out to the Navajo reservation, which she hasn't done yet but he lives in hope. As the rabble of players thunders out, he'll lift his gaze to the top of the page he's on and peer over. Sometimes this one boy whose name Ryan doesn't know will meet his eyes with piercing blue ones, and Ryan will blink and go back to his book, exuding all the nonchalance he can muster.

The younger boys will throw around a basketball while they're waiting for their rides and the older one, the one who'll look at Ryan sometimes, has his own truck, but he'll stick around most days to help the others with their technique. It's on such an occasion that a particularly young-looking boy with long, dark hair and kind of a swagger about him mistimes his pass dribble thing and sends the ball flying in the direction of Sharpay's car. Ryan, acting on his reflexes, holds his book up in front of his face and cringes behind it, like it's really going to protect his entire body from the flying projectile. The next thing he knows, there's laughter coming from beside him and the boy, the cute one, is leaning down to pick up the ball, which ended up ricocheting harmlessly off the rear bumper. He bounces it expertly a couple of times and then catches it in his hand – just one hand, which Ryan is secretly impressed by, although he'll never admit it.

"You know, holding your hands up might've been a better defensive course of action," the boy says mockingly, the laughter still in his voice. "Or, God forbid, catching the ball."

Ryan shrugs sheepishly. He usually doesn't go in for all that intimidation-by-way-of-social-status crap, but now that the boy is right in front of him – not to mention, you know, hot – he's having trouble standing up for himself.

By now the dark-haired boy has ambled up too, and the first one – the hot one – turns to him and says, "That's theater kids for you, I guess," and they both laugh.

Ryan is still trying to figure out a suitable comeback when they lope back off to the other side of the parking lot, tossing the ball between them. Before long, they are once again heavily engrossed in their impromptu coaching session, and Ryan in turn is heavily engrossed in pretending not to watch them. Presently, Sharpay prances out in a cloud of Chanel and waves to the boy, who nods back, then snaps her fingers at Ryan.

"The last time I checked, I can't drive my car with someone sitting on the back of it."

Ryan rolls his eyes and hops down.

**xXx**

"Hey, Shar," Ryan says casually on their way to school the next morning.

"Hm?" Sharpay is busy reapplying her lip gloss while they wait for the lights to change.

"You know that _boy_?"

Sharpay switches to mascara. "Which boy?" she asks, fluttering her lashes at the rearview mirror.

"That boy from yesterday. The one who's on the basketball team."

She frowns. "Chad? Jason? Zeke?"

"I don't know – the one you waved to in the parking lot."

"Oh, _Troy_."

Ryan tilts his head. "Troy," he repeats, testing the name out. "I think I've heard his name. You know, around."

"Well, of course you have." Sharpay rolls her eyes and accelerates. "You need to get with the program, Ryan. Troy Bolton is the captain of the basketball team. His father's the coach. He's in our grade, you know."

"Our school's big," Ryan says lamely, knowing that's not an excuse.

"He's really hot," she continues, appearing not to have heard him. "I don't get why he's not into me."

"Hm," Ryan responds sympathetically, more focused on the mystery boy's name than his sister's unrequited feelings. _Troy_.

**xXx**

It's a few days afterwards that rehearsal runs late due to a whole slew of issues from costume design to problems with props. The performance is growing ever closer; Darbus is tearing her hair out, and Ryan is right behind her. He _appreciates_ the students who sign up for the yearly musicale despite their obvious lack of acting, singing or dancing skills, but wishes he could find people who actually know what they're doing. The only one who's really up to his standards is Sharpay, but he's under _her_ thumb, not the other way around.

"Don't be long," he warns Sharpay as she disappears backstage to primp.

The boys are already outside tossing the ball around, but Ryan's so deep in thought he barely notices them – at least until he bumps into one.

"I'm so sor-" he begins, but then actually _looks_ at who he collided with. His breath catches in his throat. "-ry," he finishes lamely. It is, of course, Troy Bolton.

Troy shrugs. "Yeah, whatever."

Ryan's curious in spite of himself. "It's Troy, right?"

"Uh." Troy looks at him in a very "Don't you know who I _am_?" kind of way. "Yeah, I'm Troy."

Ryan pastes a smile on his face. This guy's not going to make it easy for him. "Ryan."

"Well, hi, _Ryan,_" Troy says sarcastically. "Are you going to, like, give me your entire life story now, or can I go back to what I was doing?"

The guy is a real jackass, but Ryan's not going to let himself be intimidated this time. "What are you practicing for?"

"Uh, a game?"

"When is it?"

"Everyone _knows_ when it is, theater kid."

The dark-haired boy from last time runs up behind Troy and claps him on the back. "It's this Friday, and the Wildcats are going to kick some serious butt just like always, right, Troy?"

Troy curls his lip back in a half-smile, half-sneer and leans away from the touch. "Yeah, that's right, Jimmie."

"Well, good luck with…" Ryan trails off as he realizes he's lacking the correct terminology, "shooting some goals. Scoring some hoops. Uh… you know, whatever. I hope you guys win."

Troy shoots the dark-haired boy – Jimmie – an "Is this kid for real?" glance, but Jimmie is too busy beaming at Ryan.

"We totally will, with Troy on the team! He's like, an amazing player! He's going to get a basketball scholarship for U of A so he can be a _Redhawk_! You should totally come see him play! You'll never forget it! He's the – ow!"

Troy retracts his hand from Jimmie's bicep and scowls at him. "What did I tell you? More playing, less talking. Your dad's gonna be here soon and I wanna make sure you have that new sequence down before Friday."

Jimmie bounds off like an overexcited puppy, and Troy rolls his eyes.

"He's kind of, ah… enthusiastic, isn't he?" Ryan asks, and Troy seems bemused that he's still talking.

"I guess. Are you going to get out of my way anytime soon or should we just restart with you in the middle of everything?"

Ryan raises an eyebrow. There's something about this guy that just _irks_ him. "Wow, you know, now I kind of want to show up on Friday just to see if you're better at playing basketball than you are at being a douchebag. It'd be pretty impressive if you were."

To his amazement, this actually catches Troy off guard and makes him laugh. "Nice one, theater kid," he says with a small, appreciative nod, before turning back to his friends.

**xXx**

Ryan almost chickens out about showing up to the game on Friday, but once he tells Sharpay he might attend, it's all over.

"Do you have any idea how convenient it would be for me _not_ to have to drive you home and then come all the way back here to watch it? You're going, end of."

Ryan fights back a smile. Sometimes he really hates his sister's domineering attitude, but he has to admit that there are times it definitely comes in useful.

**xXx**

Ryan's surprised by how oddly graceful basketball is. It's choreographed in its own right, very different from dancing but with a lot of commonalities. He can tell every move has been practiced a hundred times before, and the team works together like the well-oiled machine of a professional dance academy. He's even a little… yes, he'll admit it, _jealous_of their closeness and camaraderie. Nobody but Sharpay and himself has worked on every school production in the past four years, but these guys look as if they've been playing together since childhood.

After the game, he and Sharpay wander down to the hallway outside the locker rooms ("It's like we're stage-dooring, Ryan!") and tries to look inconspicuous, regretting his morning choice of bright pink pants and a matching newsboy cap. This dark-skinned guy who Ryan kind of recalls seeing on the court walks out and starts chatting with Sharpay, and Ryan leans back against the wall and rolls his eyes heavenward as his sister's laughter gets increasingly high-pitched. He's about ready to walk out right then and there, and probably would have already if Sharpay wasn't his only way of getting home.

"Huh, you really weren't kidding about showing up."

Ryan drops his eyes from the ceiling tiles he's been eyeballing for God knows how long only to find himself face-to-face with Troy Bolton, who's looking sort of impressed in spite of himself. "Where did _you_ come from?"

"Uh, the locker room?" Troy replies slowly, like Ryan's some kind of idiot.

"No, I know, it was… rhetorical… never mind…"

"You're so fucking awkward, theater kid."

"Um. Excuse me?"

Troy just shrugs his shoulders, but he's staring at Ryan really intensely, like he's calculating something or weighing something up. "You ever been to a real party? Like, as in, not a cast party?"

"I." Ryan isn't really sure what to say. Sharpay holds these big bashes at their house all the time but he usually just stays in his room, and somehow he doesn't think that counts.

"Would you like to?"

Ryan doesn't know where he's going with this. "Like, when?"

"Right now," and suddenly Troy's moving down the hallway towards the doors to the car park. "Me and some of the guys from the team. Girls, too. Mostly groupies, like her." He indicates Sharpay, who's twirling a lock of hair around her finger and giggling at something the dark-skinned boy is saying.

"That's my sister."

"Whoa, seriously?" He looks at each of them in turn for a few seconds, comparing, and then nods slowly. "Yeah, I can kind of see it. So what do you say, theater kid? Wanna come?"

"To your party?"

"Yeah."

"No, thanks."

He looks surprised, and Ryan wonders if anyone at East High has ever declined an invitation from the great Troy Bolton before.

"Why not?"

"Please. An evening of you and your jock buddies getting progressively wasted, telling me that if I'm into theater I must be gay and then asking whether I actually _am_ over and over until they get bored and pass out on top of some unfortunate girl in one of the back bedrooms? I have better things to do with my time."

"Are you?" Troy asks, not necessarily rudely, just interested.

"What, gay?" Ryan stalls, trying to ignore the icicle that feels like it's suddenly formed in his stomach.

"No, into theater," Troy deadpans, then laughs lightly, but there's a seriousness in his eyes like he's actually expecting an answer.

"Are _you_?" Ryan fronts, and is amused by the other boy's reaction. Troy's jaw drops because nobody outside of his circle would ever _dare_ ask him that, and even _then_ it's only in jest, and Ryan gets a blast of confidence from knowing he can have this effect on somebody the rest of the school has apparently deemed so untouchable. He marches over to Sharpay, taps her on the shoulder and mutters, "Get his number already. I'll be waiting by the car," before turning back to the still speechless Troy. He calls, "See you later, basketball kid," and makes a grand exit like the theater kid he is.

**xXx**

After Sharpay drops Ryan off, she ends up going to the party at Troy's place and doesn't come home until the early hours of the morning. She faces a stern lecture then waltzes giddily up the staircase. Ryan pokes his head out of his room.

"How did it go?"

"Pretty well," she says, smiling.

"'Pretty well'? What kind of a description is that? Are you and that guy going steady now or what?"

She makes a face at him. "Uh, no, because it's not the 1950's anymore, Ryan, but Zeke _is_ taking me to the movies tomorrow night."

Ryan squeals and claps his hands. "I'm so excited for you, Sharpay!"

She grins unabashedly, giving up on stifling the glee that she's been holding in all evening. "I really like him."

"What about Troy Bolton?"

"What about him? He was just a crush. Zeke actually likes me back, and he's way nicer than Troy anyway."

"That's not hard," Ryan mumbles, and Sharpay looks at him oddly. "Nothing. I'm glad you had fun."

"Thanks." She beams. "Me too."

**xXx**

Now that Sharpay's seeing Zeke, she makes a point of going to every single game (admittedly, Ryan usually tags along, but only because she's his ride, okay?) Those evening always end the same way, with her and Zeke talking circles around each other, flirting awkwardly, and sometimes Troy will come out and roll his eyes at Ryan. They'll end up making small talk or something, and Ryan makes the other boy laugh a couple of times, which is really kind of awesome.

What's not so awesome is that Sharpay's taken to cutting out of rehearsal while Ryan's still easing the actors through "shuffle… ball change… stomp," and sits with Zeke on the hood of her car until long after practice and rehearsal have let out.

Ryan's getting kind of sick of it.

"Hey, theater kid."

He looks up from his new reading place – a nice sunlit spot up against the brick wall of the gymnasium in the area of the parking lot that's farthest away from Sharpay and Zeke – and raises an eyebrow. "Basketball kid."

Troy accepts the hit. "I take it you're trying to get away from the lovebirds too?"

"Good guess," Ryan replies with a grimace. "Where are your little teammates?"

"If you're talking about the shining future of East High basketball, they all went home already."

"So why are you here?"

"Uh, well, let's see. We were practicing over there," he points, "and my car is over _there_, and right in the middle is you, looking all sorry for yourself and reading your Shakespeare or whatever the fuck that is. I thought I'd say hey. Sue me."

"Dostoevsky," Ryan corrects him.

"Bless you."

"I'm reading Dostoevsky."

"_Oh_. What is that, like, a play?"

Ryan sighs. "An author. Ever hear of _Crime and Punishment_?"

"Nah, but I watch _Law & Order_." Troy can't help but laugh at the expression on Ryan's face. "I'm kidding. I know who Dostoevsky is. I read _The Brothers Karamazov_ last year."

"Really? Like... for a class?"

"For pleasure. But, anyway, I'll leave you with Fyodor because I've gotta go. I have a date tonight. Catch you later, theater kid."

"'Bye," Ryan replies, and stares down at his book. He wonders why all of a sudden he feels so empty.

**xXx**

"So, how'd it go on Friday?"

It's Monday – the Monday after Dostoevsky in the parking lot and Troy's bombshell about his date (right, like the leader of the basketball team _wouldn't_ have girls fawning all over him) – and Troy slams his locker closed, peering at Ryan like he's trying to place the boy's face.

"It's _Ryan_," Ryan says after a beat. "Jeez, Troy."

Troy has the grace to look at least a tad bit embarrassed. "Sorry, man, I wasn't expecting-"

"A lowly 'theater kid' to come up and talk to you in front of all these people, showing flagrant disregard for the social hierarchy of the school and inexorably blemishing your – gasp! – _reputation_ for ever and ever and ever, or at least 'til graduation?"

"…To see you somewhere that isn't the parking lot or the gymnasium," Troy finishes, and Ryan feels quite silly. "Take a chill pill, theater kid. Good use of all those SAT words, though. You coming to the game on Friday?"

Ryan scowls. "Maybe. How was your date?"

"Okay. Not good enough to repeat. How was Fyodor?"

"Fine. And that means…?"

"Still single. Why, did you want to make out under the bleachers?"

"Fuck you," Ryan says, but he's smiling.

**xXx**

Ryan believes he's finally found something more lame to do with his Friday nights than curling up with a good book – namely, watching his sister play tonsil hockey with Zeke. Tonight they couldn't even keep themselves at bay long enough to get to her car, and are currently pressed up against the wall outside the boys' locker room.

Troy peeks his head out of the door as Ryan watches them in abject horror. "It's like a train wreck, isn't it?"

"Are you incapable of saying hello like a normal person?" Ryan grouches, but secretly he's glad to see someone he knows who isn't… otherwise engaged.

Troy doesn't dignify this with an answer, and instead beckons to the other boy conspiratorially. "You can come hang out in here, if you want. Nobody should have to be subjected to that."

"Uh, right. You're inviting the theater kid in amongst all the naked, sweaty jocks? I'll have twenty verbal assaults thrown at me before I've even stepped through the doorway."

"My friends really aren't that bad, you know. Besides, they sympathize with you. Your sister is all Zeke talks about."

Ryan fiddles with his white fedora and slides his eyes to the couple just in time for Sharpay to let out a little moan. He shudders.

"Okay, fine, but if they gang-rape me, I'll never speak to you again."

With a satisfied smirk, Troy disappears back through the door frame. "You wish, theater kid."

**xXx**

The hallowed sanctum of the boys' basketball team's locker room is really just that – a locker room – and Ryan finds himself feeling faintly disappointed. Most of the team has left already, so it's just Troy and a couple of others, one of whom he recognizes as this guy who always sits next to Troy at lunch time.

"Ryan, this is my main man Chad," Troy says by way of introduction, thumping the guy on the back. "And this is Jason." A boy with messy hair and light brown eyes raises his hand in a cautious greeting. "Guys, this is Ryan – Sharpay's brother."

"Ohhh," Jason winces. "My condolences."

"Does she talk about Zeke as much as he talks about _her_?" Chad asks, running a brush through his wild, curly mane.

"If you mean roughly 24/7, then yeah," Ryan replies, surprised at how willing they are to accommodate him into their territory.

"They're making out against the outside wall as we speak," Troy informs them, tugging his basketball jersey up over his head, and Ryan averts his eyes so forcefully that he can feel his retinas burning.

"Yeah, it's a good time," he mumbles, "but listen, I've gotta…" He leaves before finishing his sentence.

**xXx**

Ryan gets three quarters of the way down the hallway before Troy catches up, pulling on his T-shirt as he moves.

"Hey, man, what happened in there?"

"Nothing," Ryan says shortly, pushing open the double doors to the parking lot. He shivers a little. It doesn't really get _cold_ at this time of year, per se, but at night the wind gets up, and he wishes he'd remembered to grab a jacket before leaving home this morning.

"Seriously," Troy says from behind him, reaching out to grab his arm. "Hey. Stop."

"What?" he asks flatly, but does as Troy requests.

"What's up with you?"

Ryan shrugs Troy's hand off his arm. "I don't… you shouldn't have invited me in there. It just. It was awkward."

"It was only awkward in your head, dude. My friends were perfectly nice to you. I warned them before you went in there that if they weren't, I'd kick their asses."

Ryan bites back a grin. "You really said that?"

"I really said that."

He feels like he should say thanks or something, but he doesn't want Troy thinking he _owes_ him. The guy is cocky enough already without Ryan giving him some kind of savior complex.

"Anyway, listen, uh, I don't know if you saw but… Sharpay and Zeke just went into the janitor's closet."

Ryan blinks. "Sharpay went into the _janitor's_ closet? Voluntarily? _Why_?" Troy just looks at him until he gets it. "Oh, _no._ Ew. Oh, ugh. _Really_?"

"Really. Sorry, theater kid, looks like you're going to be hanging around here for a little while."

"For God's sake, this is so dumb," Ryan raves, stomping over to the car and kicking one of its back tires petulantly. "I'm sick of not having my own wheels. I think I'm just going to have to relentlessly beg my parents about the Vespa until they say yes. They're freaking out because people who ride mopeds have a higher accident rate, but it's going to be a really distinctive color so everyone's definitely going to see me."

"Uhm." Troy sounds like he's trying not to laugh. "That's… very… what color?"

"Powder blue."

Troy loses his battle and cracks up. At first Ryan is mortally offended, but soon he's laughing too.

"Okay," Troy says when he's calmed down a little bit, "I have to ask."

"Yeah?"

"Are you? I mean… you've _got_ to be."

Ryan feels a nervous tightening in his stomach. "Am I what?" he asks flippantly. "Powder blue?"

Troy gives him a Look. "You _know_ what. I don't care either way, I swear. You're a decent guy, theater kid, and my opinion of you really isn't gonna be affected by knowing who you like to kiss."

Ryan exhales slowly, measuredly. "Do we have to make this into, like, a _thing_? Can't I just be who I am and not have everyone categorize and dissect the hell out of me?"

"This _is_ high school, you know." Now it's Troy's turn to be the recipient of a Look. "Okay, seriously, you're making this whole 'warring factions' thing out to be way more than it is. Like, _we_ hang out. If you and I can, anyone can."

"You treated me like shit when you first met me."

"I treat most people like shit when I first meet them." He shrugs self-deprecatingly. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"I don't want to."

"That's fine." He hops up onto the hood of Sharpay's car. "Is your sister's car alarm gonna start blaring at me?"

"Um…" Ryan winces. "Yeah."

"Shit." Troy jumps off like he's been scalded. "Okay. My truck it is."

Soon they're holed up in the cab of Troy's rickety old pick-up, Ryan gingerly perched on the passenger seat while Troy is sprawled out in the driver's.

"So, theater kid…"

"Hm?" Ryan's still a little tetchy from their previous topic of conversation. He hopes Troy has enough sense to leave the subject alone.

"When's this play of yours happening?"

"In two weeks. Why?"

"I was thinking of, you know. Rolling out. If I have nothing better to do, or whatever."

"Troy Bolton, you are so transparent," Ryan says with a shake of his head and a smile on his face. "You want to see me sing and dance my little heart out, don't you?"

"Hey now, don't push it," Troy says gruffly, but he returns the smile.

"Fuck," Ryan groans just then, catching sight of the luminescent numbers of the digital clock on the dash. "I have _never_ been at school this late, except on performance nights. This should be illegal."

"I could give you a ride if you want?" Troy suggests. "Just text Sharpay to tell her where you're at. I wouldn't recommend calling because… you know."

Ryan makes a face. "Don't remind me. Um," he tilts his head, thinks about it. "Yeah, that'd be really cool, if you don't mind."

"Awesome," Troy replies, and grins lopsidedly at him in a way that makes his stomach flip.

**xXx**

They end up talking about dating and Dostoevsky, ballet and basketball, and the drive home is a very pleasant one indeed. Ryan's strangely disappointed when he realizes they're almost at his destination.

"This was nice, Troy."

"Aw, don't get all mushy on me."

"Oh, trust me, I'm not. It was just a good thing of you to do. You're a decent guy too, you know, once you get past all the…" he pauses to think of the right word.

"Bullshit?" Troy finishes, and shakes his head. "How did _you_ get so smart? That was supposed to be my big secret."

"You can pull up right here," Ryan directs, indicating an area in front of the vehicle. "And, I don't know, since you started letting your guard down around me?"

Troy pulls to a stop and turns to Ryan, leaning one elbow thoughtfully on the steering wheel. "You know," he says after a short pause, "that's really interesting. Like, Chad, I love the dude – in a totally masculine kind of way…" (he thumps his chest for emphasis, then laughs at himself and continues) "but the day he starts having deep insights into my soul is also the day I call 911 on his ass because he is _definitely_ not feeling okay."

Ryan chuckles softly. "I guess different friends provide different things. That's why most people have a group of them, not just one or two."

"Very wise, theater kid, very wise. Damn, how did we get to talking about this from… what? Basketball?"

"Ballet. I'm pretty sure basketball was before ballet. Right, because you were talking about dating and how all the girls only want you because you're the basketball captain, and then we got into why you started playing in the first place, and I told you how I got interested in ballet. Or something. I think."

"Ballet." Troy shakes his head in disbelief. "You know, I'll totally call you my friend and everything now, but you're still fucking awkward."

"Shut up," Ryan says, and grins. "Hey, where did you end up putting my stuff?"

"Under our seats, I think. Mostly yours. Sorry my truck is so crappy, man."

"You know what my alternative was." He grimaces and retrieves his books, flipping through to make sure he has everything. "Is my math textbook under yours?"

"Uh, let's see." Troy reaches down and adjusts the toggle that moves his seat forward and back. Ryan leans across, reaches underneath and pats his hand around the slightly sticky carpeting until his fingers come into contact with a corner of a book.

"Found it!" he exclaims. He pushes up with his other arm to try to right himself but ultimately wobbles, which wrecks his balance and causes him to fall unceremoniously against Troy's upper chest. "Whoa. Sorry. Hi."

"Hey," Troy breathes.

"I didn't-"

"Hey," Troy says again, and kisses him.

Ryan's too shocked to really say or do anything, so he just goes with it. "Um," he says nervously when they break apart, "what was… what?"

Troy licks his lips self-consciously. "Sorry if that was – I mean, I didn't mean to –"

"No, no, it's okay." Ryan dips his head, leans in and connects their mouths, testing the waters. "Well," he says after breaking away for the second time. He shifts back to his seat. "This is."

"Ryan," Troy says firmly, and since when does he call him _Ryan_? "Stop making things weird when they don't need to be." Ryan nods and Troy hands him his book. "Okay?" He nods again, gathering up the rest of his stuff. "Have a good night, yeah? See you Monday."

"See you," Ryan manages faintly. He watches Troy's taillights fade off into the distance, and wonders what the hell just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Sharpay?"

"Hm?"

It's Monday again, and Sharpay's retouching her blush at the same red light as always. She's wearing Zeke's sports jacket over her tank top.

"Does Troy ever… like… trick people into doing stuff just to make fun of them with his friends later?"

She frowns. "That's a weird question."

"I know."

"Care to share?"

"Not really."

"Well, I don't think he does. At least, I haven't heard anything. Everyone knows he and the guys pranked the freshmen on the team, but that's practically a rite of passage. I could ask Zeke, if you like?"

Ryan shakes his head emphatically. "No, it's fine. It's nothing, Shar. Just. Yeah."

"Okay," Sharpay replies, and lets the subject drop even though she doesn't entirely believe him.

**xXx**

Ryan's getting all jittery about seeing Troy after school. He's trying to build up to it, working out what he's going to say, terrified they'll run into each other in the meantime. He elects to skip lunch, spending the period sitting outside in Sharpay's car instead. She takes one look at his face and hands him the keys.

By rehearsal he's a nervous wreck. He had his part down weeks ago and the others are really coming along, but today he just can't focus. He's even forgetting his hodgepodge of made-up dancing vocab, reverting back to the technical terms instead, which is immensely confusing for everyone involved.

"No, your _trail_ foot, yeah? The inside foot. The _left_. Not _your_ left, hers. Opposite footwork, remember, guys? And one… two… passing step. That's not a passing step. Okay." He pulls off his hat and runs his hands through his hair, exchanging desperate glances with Sharpay. "Let's take ten."

It isn't until they all scatter backstage that he becomes aware of a figure sitting at the back of the theater, right in the very last row. He puts his bitch face on and marches down to tell whoever it is to get out – this is a _closed_ rehearsal, jackass, wait for the opening night like everybody else – but when he gets close enough to realize who it is, he doesn't feel much like yelling anymore.

"What are you doing here?" he asks quietly. "Don't you have practice?"

Troy shrugs his shoulders. "I skipped it."

"…Isn't your dad the coach?"

"Yeah, and I'll probably be in deep shit tonight. It's okay. I wanted to see what you do while I'm shooting hoops."

"Annoy my sister and confuse the hell out of the dancers, apparently," Ryan says wryly. "It's not usually like this. I mean, _I'm_ not usually like this."

"I couldn't concentrate for shit all day either," Troy says lightly, and there's that grin again – the crooked one that does strange things to Ryan's stomach. "You finish Fyodor?"

"Um." Ryan's slightly thrown by the change of subject. "Yeah. Yesterday, actually."

"What did you think of the ending?"

"I liked it. I thought it was hopeful." He's starting to relax a bit. It doesn't _seem_ like Troy's about to produce secretly obtained photographic evidence of the kiss, Xeroxed a million times and primed to line the school bulletin boards by homeroom tomorrow, but he can never be too sure. He feels like messing with the other boy's head a little. "So, we're still looking for understudies."

"Wait, what?"

"As you're here and everything, I figured I'd ask. Basketball's all about co-ordination, right? It shouldn't be that hard for you."

"Uh, yeah, but I don't dance."

"Bet you can."

"Those moves you were getting everyone to do up there?" Troy shakes his head. "_Way_ too complicated for me."

"Oh, come on, that's easy stuff. They're regular people too, you know? They don't have dance backgrounds or anything, I just gave them a crash course on the basics after they signed up. I don't even use the proper _terminology_." He touches Troy's arm and tilts his head in the direction of the stage. "Come on. I dare you."

Troy looks around like he's expecting spies to melt out of the woodwork. "Oh, my God, my _reputation_," he says, but he's more than half kidding and Ryan chuckles as he leads the other boy up onto the stage. "Wow, this place is a lot bigger than it looks from down there."

"Imagine it filled to capacity."

"Damn."

"Okay, do you wanna do this or not?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess. But only to show you how much I suck."

"You won't suck," Ryan promises. "Ever hear of a ball change?"

"Sounds dirty."

He bursts out laughing. "It's really not. Look." He performs the dance step and then looks at Troy expectantly. "See? Easy. You try."

"Okay." Troy frowns, inhales, and copies what he just saw. His imitation brings the image of a tap-dancing elephant to Ryan's mind.

"…Alright, let's go basic. Do you know how to do the cha-cha?"

"Uhm. What do _you_ think?"

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Okay, the basic chasse is just one, two, one two three," he counts, moving in time with the beats. "So, left foot forward, shift most of your weight, then back to the right on the second beat, and forward, two, three. Simple."

"Yeah, for some," Troy grumbles, executing the moves as best he can. He's kind of getting it, kind of. "How do you do that thing with your hips, though?"

"Ha, don't worry about my hips. We just started. The hips will come in time." Ryan catches himself, blushes. "I mean. Not like _that_."

Troy's trying not to laugh. "You're so awkward, theater kid. Cha-cha-cha."

"You're the one galumphing around onstage with a drama dork," Ryan points out, not unkindly, and Troy grins.

"I should teach you the ways of the baller after practice tomorrow. Even the score a little bit."

"I thought 'baller' was like, a hip-hop term."

"Oh, jeez. Yeah, _so_ not what I'm talking about."

Ryan checks his watch, hates that his ten minutes are almost up but knows they're non-negotiable. "Listen, I have to round everyone up and get back to rehearsal, but yeah, okay, I'll do it. It's only fair, right?"

"We'll make a sportsman out of you yet, theater kid," Troy says, hopping down from the stage. "I might go check out how practice is coming along without me. You know, tell my dad I got lost in the hallways or something."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Ryan says skeptically. "And, hey, tomorrow – it's a date, right?"

"Right," Troy calls over his shoulder as he makes his way out of the theater. Ryan can't help but feel chills.

**xXx**

Troy Bolton is sweaty, and it's really very attractive. Ryan's never been big on the whole "manly man" kind of deal, but something about Troy makes him able to pull it off.

Tuesday rehearsal finished early, largely due to Ryan's excitement and inability to concentrate rubbing off on everyone else, so he sneaked into the gym and sat up in the stands. Now he's waiting for practice to end and feeling all kinds of creepy about being here without Troy knowing, even though he didn't come in all stealthily on _purpose_, he just didn't want to interrupt. The gymnasium makes him feel like a fish out of water, and he wonders how Friday night ever could have happened. They're too different. Besides, Troy hasn't even mentioned it, so he assumes the other boy just wants to forget the whole thing.

"Chad, over here!" Troy yells, jumping into the air and kind of pivoting as he does so, reaching his arms above his head to intercept his best friend's throw. He looks up and sees Ryan, and their eyes meet for a nanosecond before Troy falls back down to the ground and into the game.

Coach Bolton wraps things up soon afterwards, but instead of accompanying his teammates to the locker room, Troy jogs up the steps to meet Ryan, still holding the basketball.

"What, you were so eager to start your lesson that you showed up early?"

"You wish," Ryan shoots back, tugging his cap down over his head. "So, how do we do this, exactly?"

Troy regards him with amusement. "Going down to the court would be a good start. I can't believe I'm gonna teach you how to play basketball dressed like _that_."

"You love my style," Ryan insists, shooting him a pose, and he laughs easily, taking the stairs two at a time as Ryan scrambles to follow.

"Okay, so, ever heard of a lay-up?"

Ryan tilts his head. "Sounds dirty," he parrots, and Troy groans.

"I see what you did there. Nice one, theater kid. But seriously, you have, right?"

"Nope, never."

"How can you have never…?" Troy shakes his head. "Alright. You know when a player, like, jumps up to shoot a basket?"

"Vaguely."

"Work with me here." He pushes his hair off his forehead. "There are a bunch of different kinds, but I'm gonna teach you a basic lay-up from the right-hand side. There's rarely a chance to actually use one of these in a real game, but somehow I doubt you'll get that far." Ryan snorts. "What you want to do is get your run-up and go wide, so when you come into the backboard your lay-up will get to the square at a decent angle. Then use your right hand to shoot and jump off your left foot, like this."

He takes off down the court, pushes upwards and launches the ball towards the backboard. It sinks perfectly into the basket and then he catches it, turns and jogs back to Ryan. "Got it?"

"Uh."

"Just try," he says encouragingly, holding out the ball.

Ryan takes it – and a deep breath – before moving forwards, executing a series of balletic leaps and hurling the ball rather daintily in front of him. It rebounds off the rim, and Troy catches it effortlessly. The expression on his face is priceless.

"_What_?" demands Ryan.

"…I think that was the gayest thing I've ever seen."

"Oh, screw you," Ryan says, but he's laughing too hard for Troy to believe he's serious. "I'm a dancer, what did you expect? I guess it's safe to say I won't be putting on a Wildcats uniform anytime soon."

"Yeah, let's hope not. Unless there's like, a dancing championship."

"That'd be epic. Hey, speaking of dancing, do you actually remember what I taught you yesterday or did it all go out of your head like this lay-up thing probably will for me in five minutes?"

"The steps?" Troy frowns in thought and then does a decent parody of the motions. "One, two, cha-cha-cha?"

"Yeah, that's pretty good, but you can't really do it properly on your own. You know it's not a one-person dance, right?"

"To be honest, I never really thought about it."

"C'mere." Ryan holds out his hand and Troy looks at him doubtfully. "I promise, none of your basketball buddies will ever find out about this, _ever_."

Troy rolls his eyes but gingerly takes the other boy's hand. "Yeah, okay."

"Alright, so, when I move forward, you move back. Do the exact opposite of everything I do and you'll be fine. And _one_, two, one, two, three…"

This really isn't going as terribly as Ryan had suspected it might. Troy has a decent sense of timing and is obviously willing to learn, but he still thinks it's kind of funny that they're dancing on a basketball court right now. A couple of times, Troy loses his rhythm and moves forward or back at the same time Ryan does, and once their faces end up dangerously close. The air between them seems to tense and vibrate for a second before Ryan twists away, ending on an "Olé!" and bowing to his dance partner before giving him a round of applause. "Not bad at all, basketball kid. I'm kind of impressed."

Troy shrugs in an "aw, shucks" kind of way and mutters a "Thanks," but Ryan can tell he's proud of himself. "Right now I have to get out of this sweaty uniform though. You wanna come with?"

Ryan looks apprehensive. "Troy, I don't know…"

"The guys should probably be out of there by now, if that's what you're worried about."

"Who said I was worried?"

"Fair enough."

Ryan follows Troy over to the other side of the gym, then down a short corridor leading to the locker rooms. Troy pokes his head into a small office and says, "Hey, Dad." Ryan's hanging back because Coach Bolton sort of scares him. He can hear the coach's voice but can't make out the words, only then Troy says, "Nah, I was just shooting some hoops with a friend," looks up and says, "Come here, Ry."

_Ry_ is new. Obviously the usual nickname won't suffice under these circumstances, but why not his full name? He supposes the contraction sounds more masculine somehow – not that that'll help once the coach actually lays eyes on him. Reluctantly he moves forward until he's standing right next to the door frame, smoothing his aqua-colored shirt out of nerves. Troy reaches out and tugs him into view.

Coach Bolton looks him up and down, is quiet for a few seconds, and then says, "Ryan, is it? I don't believe we've met."

"Not officially, sir. I'm… not really one for sports. I'm more the theater type. Um, no offence."

"I see." The older man smiles in a way that shows he's not surprised. "Well, nice meeting you, Ryan. Troy, we'll talk about you missing a few of those shots today later, alright?"

"Sure thing," Troy says kind of glumly, and then they take off for the locker rooms, Ryan heaving a huge sigh of relief. "You're not scared of my _dad_, are you?"

"I wouldn't say _scared_," Ryan says defensively. "Maybe a little… intimidated." He's looking at Troy like he expects to get teased, but Troy just nods sympathetically.

"He can be intimidating," he agrees simply. "He's a good guy and everything, just… yeah. Anyway." They reach the locker room which, sure enough, is empty, and Troy goes to grab his stuff. "You can take a seat. I'm not gonna shower or anything, so this shouldn't take long."

"Okay."

Ryan settles himself awkwardly at the end of one of the wooden benches, and Troy pulls off his shirt. Ryan's mouth goes dry. The angle they're at means all that's exposed is Troy's back, but his muscles gently ripple as he rifles through his sports bag and for some reason Ryan can't turn away.

"So, listen, you didn't do so bad out there."

Ryan chokes out a laugh. "Come on, I sucked."

"The dancing at the end kinda saved it. I think me and the guys should do that the next time we're behind in a game – might get us some extra points. Hey, hold this for a sec?"

Troy turns around, bare-chested, balls his jersey up and tosses it at Ryan. Ryan's staring so hard he doesn't catch it.

"Uhm." Troy waves. "Hello? Theater kid? Earth to theater kid?"

"Sorry." Ryan blinks, shakes his head a little, swallows. He's not really sure what's been going on with him lately. "Carry on."

Thankfully Troy keeps his basketball shorts on throughout, and he picks up his jersey and sits next to Ryan while he puts away the rest of his gear.

"Hey, I never asked – how did your rehearsal go today?"

"Approximately as well as yesterday's," Ryan responds drily.

"It's funny how that goes. I had a pretty shitty practice, too."

"Are you kidding? You were great."

Troy looks up from folding his jersey to tilt his head at Ryan. "How long were you watching?"

For some reason, Ryan blushes. "Not long. Just long enough to know you kicked butt."

Troy snorts. "Trust me, not today, theater kid. Didn't you hear what my dad said? I'm off my game. This whole day's been weird."

"Yeah, it's been like that for me too. Ever since the – um, the weekend."

Troy looks at him – _really_ looks at him – and Ryan wonders if he's said something wrong, gone too far, talked about the elephant in the room that they were never supposed to acknowledge, but the other boy just smiles, shakes his head, looks back down at his jersey and says, "Yeah, the weekend."

Ryan doesn't really understand how it happens. He knows he leans in first this time, that Troy looks up when he gets close and doesn't really have time to do anything either way before their lips connect, but the other boy definitely kisses him back. The kiss is longer this time, deeper, and Ryan gently swipes his tongue along Troy's bottom lip until Troy's mouth opens for him. He puts his hand on the basketballer's arm just for something to hold onto, and strokes Troy's wrist gently so he has something to do with his fingers.

When they break apart they're both breathing heavily, and Troy's face is kind of red. He's not really looking at Ryan, gaze flickering on the other boy's countenance, and before either of them can say anything Coach Bolton is in the doorway reminding Troy to be home for dinner at seven. Troy says, "Okay, Dad, will do," and smiles that cocky smile, but Ryan can't make eye contact because he's scared his face will somehow give away what just happened between him and the coach's son.

Coach Bolton leaves and the two boys exchange glances. Neither says anything immediately, but eventually Troy clears his throat and grabs his T-shirt, standing up to tug it on. "So."

Ryan toes at the floor. "Uh-huh."

"Hey."

"What?" he asks miserably. "Look, I'm sorry I did that. I don't know why I –"

Troy cuts him off with a well-placed, "Theater kid," and a "You want a ride home?"

**xXx**

The drive is mostly quiet. Somehow Coach Bolton's interruption has made the reality of what they're doing (and all its inherent dangers) sink in. At some point, Troy flicks on the radio. "I Kissed A Girl" is on and they both scramble for the off button, fingers bumping in the process. Ryan says a quick prayer to melt into the truck's upholstery but then Troy glances at him sideways and that's enough to make him laugh. It's a nervous giggle more than anything, but at least it breaks the silence.

"So, are we ever gonna talk about this? Because, you know, man, I think Katy Perry kinda wants us to."

Ryan appreciates that Troy's trying to make light of the situation, but he still fidgets uncomfortably. "No. I don't know. What is there to – I don't want to."

"Come on, like people don't think you like guys already."

"That's not the _point_," Ryan hisses, and a surge of anger rises within him. Seriously, where do people get off thinking they know things about him before _he_ does?

Troy holds his hands up in surrender and Ryan watches his palms ghost over the steering wheel. He's a lot of things, but not a reckless driver. His truck is his baby. "Okay, okay, sorry."

They pull up to Ryan's house and Ryan slips out his keys. Troy turns the engine off and they just sit there for a while, thinking their own thoughts, until Troy puts his hand on top of Ryan's and says, "So, you know, your play is next week," and Ryan pulls away before replying, "I know, duh, it's my _play_" in this hard, edgy voice he didn't even know he had in him, and Troy is quiet for a long time before asking him, "Who's the asshole now?"

Ryan doesn't want to answer that so he grabs his books and gets out of the truck, slamming the door behind him without so much as a goodnight.

**xXx**

Ryan is in a rotten mood for the rest of the week, and by Sunday afternoon he still can't get the image of Troy's hurt expression out of his head. He hadn't been sure what was going on – a whether this was really a _thing_, and if so, what kind, nor was he completely convinced that Troy wasn't just setting him up for something, but that look… no-one could fake that look. And now, Ryan feels like shit. Troy's eyes are what started the whole thing and now it's ending the same way, except this time they were sad and not sparkling, which makes Ryan feel kind of lame because if the sun rises and sets on Troy's ass like the whole of the rest of the school seems to believe then where does _he_ fit in?

"Hey, what's up with Troy?" comes Sharpay's voice suddenly, startling him from his thoughts. She walks into the Evans' living room with Manly nestled in her arms and Zeke sidling in behind her, resting a hand on her hip. They exchange lovesick glances and Ryan kind of wants to throw up.

"What makes you think I'd know?"

Zeke shrugs. "We know you guys have been hanging out. We figured something might have happened."

"Like what?" Ryan snaps. Surely their… whatever it was hadn't been obvious to the whole basketball team?

"Like, maybe he told you about something that was going on with him or whatever? Just guessing, man. All I know is he spent most of his time at Rocketman's party last night sitting around being emo, which is totally not Troy."

"Who the hell is Rocketman?"

"Jimmie," Sharpay interjects. "This kid on the team – one of the freshmen. The guy with the hair? They call him Rocketman."

"'Cause he's fast," Zeke supplies, and Ryan looks at him witheringly.

Yeah, he remembers the kid well enough, and is surprised to feel a burgeoning jealousy in his chest. He's not going to assume Jimmie's… into guys or whatever, but at the very least the kid has a pretty serious case of hero worship, and for some reason that makes his hackles rise. He almost feels _possessive_, which makes no sense because he's only hung out with Troy what, like, a handful of times, and only very recently, but at the same time he can't imagine ever teaching another guy how to dance, or accepting a ride home from anyone else but Sharpay.

Manly yips, scrabbling his paws against his mistress' forearm, gaze fixed on Ryan. The little dog's eyes are brown and glossy but Ryan's subconscious metamorphoses them into Troy's and fills them with hurt.

"What is it, honey?" Sharpay croons to her pet, and Ryan becomes distinctly aware of a sinking feeling inside him. He knows what he has to do.

"I get it," he says quietly, gently patting the dog's head before making his way out of the room to go rummage for his phone in his bedroom, leaving Sharpay and Zeke none the wiser.

**xXx**

The conversation that led up to Ryan and Troy exchanging numbers had been an interesting one. At first Troy had offered his purely on the premise of making himself available as a kind of glorified chauffeur ("You know, anywhere you wanna go that Sharpay can't take you." "Like the Navajo reservation?" "Uh. Okay? Sometime, sure.") but as the boys parted ways that day, Troy had said, "So, hey, now that you have my number you should call me sometime – one night this week," and Ryan had agreed but ended up not going through with it because he saw Troy practically every day anyway so he didn't see much point.

Ryan finds his phone sitting on the floor in a corner of his room, attached to its charger. He disconnects it, scrolls to T in his address book and punches out a quick text message. He erases it several times; _dude, i'm so sorry_ becomes _hey, so i'm kind of a jerk – forgive me?_ which evolves into a simple _troy, i screwed up._ Eventually he presses "send" just because he's tired of thinking about it.

The phone buzzes almost immediately, which he's totally not expecting, and when he checks the screen he sees "Incoming call: Troy B." pop up. His heart jumps into his throat.

"H-hello?" he opens, and really, _super smooth, Ryan_ because if there's ever a bad way to hold your own, stuttering is it.

"Hi," Troy says kind of shortly, then, "how's it going?"

"Uh. Fine." This is awkward, this silence, and Ryan desperately wants to fill it with anything he can think of. "Apparently you were being emo at Jimmie's party last night," he blurts, then wants to hit himself for his stupidity. _That's right, insulting the guy is really gonna put you back in his good graces_.

"Emo?"

"Yeah, like… you know those kids who are always sad and wear a lot of eyeliner and listen to Fall Out Boy and fucking shitty as hell music like that?" He pauses. "Not that I think you were wearing eyeliner, but-"

"I know what emo is, Ryan. And hey, don't dis Pete."

Normally Ryan is pleased when Troy uses his real name because he thinks it _means_ something, some higher level of closeness or fondness or whatever, but this time the implication is all too clear. Nicknames are endearments, and Ryan doesn't deserve one.

"I know, I didn't mean you didn't, but. Ah." He should really stop talking.

"Where'd you find that out, anyway?"

He volunteers the information immediately, and then cringes. What if he gets Zeke in trouble or something? _This_ is why he hates talking on the phone – his mouth goes ahead and says what it wants before his brain gets a chance to temper the output.

"I guess I kind of have been emo," Troy admits, and Ryan's surprised at his honesty. "I'm just surprised Zeke picked up on it."

"What's up? Like… what's wrong?"

"Tuesday kind of sucked, man. Like. Like, hardcore."

Ryan bites his lip. "Yeah. Yeah, it did, I know. I'm sorry."

"Seriously, what the fuck," and it's more of a statement than a question.

"I don't know," Ryan says, hanging his head even though Troy can't see him. "I just hate people judging me. Trying to give me some neat little label so they can assign me to a category and stick me on a shelf, you know?"

"Dude, I'm not trying to do that, I'm trying to get to _know_ you. I want to figure out who you are, how you work. It means you interest me. It means… I like being around you."

Ryan's heart rate accelerates and he uses his free hand to play with the tassels on the edges of his comforter, dispelling some of his nervous energy. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I hate when people just write me off as one thing and think that means I'm not another. Like, if I'm a jock, I can't be good at English, I can't like reading. You know? It doesn't make any sense. Remember the first time we talked about Dostoevsky?"

"Fyodor, you mean?" Ryan could be wrong but it sounds like Troy's smiling. "Yeah, I know what you're saying. And, hey, I. It's good spending time with you too."

"Fuck, you're so awkward, theater kid," Troy says under his breath, and it's then Ryan knows they're gonna be alright, that it's not the end of this – whatever _this_ is. "You wanna hang out tomorrow after school? We could practice our lay-ups and ball changing."

"Ball changes."

"Those too." (Ryan rolls his eyes.) "So, what do you say?"

"I, Troy, I really want to, but opening night is Friday and we're in extended rehearsal all week. We probably won't be getting out until like, 7."

"Damn," Troy says, and he sounds really disappointed. Ryan feels _so_ bad until he remembers something that he thinks might cheer both of them up.

"Hey, each of the cast members, we get a certain number of discount tickets for our families. My parents already got theirs from Sharpay, so I was wondering…"

"Yeah?" Troy must have guessed where this is going by now, but true to form, he's gonna give Ryan a hard time anyway. "Spit it out."

"I was wondering if you still wanted to see it."

"Are you kidding? You, center stage, with your cha-cha hips and your ball whatevers -"

"_Changes_, Troy, _really_ -"

"Dude, I would be totally psyched to see it."

Ryan beams down the phone line. "Well. Well, okay."

"Okay," Troy says warmly, and the tension is gone now, from Ryan's shoulders as well as the conversation, and he actually feels like he can _sleep_ properly tonight for the first time in a while. "Man, I feel so much better," Troy continues like he heard Ryan's thoughts. "Let's never do that again, yeah?"

"_Yeah_," Ryan agrees emphatically, and the next thing he knows Sharpay is charging up the stairs wanting to know if he borrowed her straightener again so he really has to go, but luckily all he needs to say is, "Sister on the warpath," and Troy gets it, whispering conspiratorially, "I recommend a change of balls," before hanging up.

When Sharpay bursts into Ryan's room she finds him staring at his phone in complete amusement, laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking.

**xXx**

Ryan didn't realize how hard it was going to be not seeing Troy after school. Last week was bad enough, but at least then he knew that even if he went looking for the other boy, nothing would come of it because they weren't speaking. Now he's looking at his watch and wondering if Troy's outside yet, if he's giving Jimmie basketball tips, if he's thinking about Ryan as much as Ryan's thinking about him.

An hour and a half into rehearsal, he tells Darbus he needs a bathroom break and dashes out of the theater. Troy's probably not still around, but he has to _check_. To his surprise, he spies the other boy sitting against the outside wall of the gymnasium, knees tucked up to his chin, balancing a book on the relatively flat surface they form and concentrating so hard that he doesn't notice Ryan's approach.

"Hey, basketball kid."

Troy looks up and grins. "Hey! Done so soon? And _what_ are you wearing?"

"My costume, duh. And ugh, are you kidding? We're only halfway through the first act. Darbus keeps stopping everything and telling us to change stuff. I told her I had to go to the bathroom."

"So what are you doing out here?"

Ryan shrugs. "Got lost, I guess. Or something."

"Or something," Troy mimics. "I missed… you know, having you around. I mean. Yeah."

Ryan thinks Troy's cute when he's awkward. "What are you reading?" Troy holds up the book somewhat sheepishly. It's _The Brothers Karamazov_, by none other than Dostoevsky. "You told me you read that last year."

"I thought you might want to read this one next so I'm trying to refresh my memory." He shrugs like it's not a big deal, but Ryan finds it adorable. "Did you wanna borrow it, by the way?"

"Sure, as soon as you finish it."

Troy laughs. "It's like 800 pages, dude. I might be a while."

"I'll wait," Ryan replies, and smiles. "Listen, I don't have very long out here, so…" He really kind of wants to make out right now but he doesn't want to _say_ it. He's never really done this before, with a guy or anyone else, at least not _seriously_, and the existence of any etiquette to be employed in these situations has gone right over his head.

Troy eyes him. "You know the back entrance to the school?" Ryan tilts his head. "The one nobody ever uses? It's down that set of stairs."

"Behind the science labs?" Ryan's eyes widen. "That's the back entrance to the _school_? I thought it was like, the gardener's storage place or something. How do you know_that_?"

"It pays to have your dad on the faculty. Anyway, you… wanna go there?"

"…Why are we sneaking into the back entrance when we can just walk in the front?"

"Dude." Troy closes the book and rocks forward onto his feet before pulling himself upwards. "We're not sneaking into the school, we're just going down the _stairs_. Where it's_private_. Like, if you're into that, I mean. Only if you're. Yeah."

A thrill of excitement races through Ryan as he gets it. "_Oh._ Okay. Um, _yeah_, I'm into that. I'd like that. A lot."

Troy gives him a light punch on the arm. "Awkward," he says, then, "Follow me."

Ryan's heart is pounding by the time they circumnavigate the building. The little staircase is almost entirely hidden by long grasses, but Troy pushes through them determinedly, holding them back until he's cleared a decent path for Ryan. Ryan catches his eye and nods in appreciation, following the other boy down the rickety steps until they reach the cool, dry space at the bottom.

"So," Troy says, turning, but Ryan's two steps ahead of him and pushes him back against one of the walls. "Umph," he manages before his mouth is smothered by Ryan's lips, and they kiss and kiss without abandon, knowing there's no chance anyone will find them here. Troy snakes his hands around Ryan's waist, sticks them in the other boy's back pockets and Ryan yelps, but not in a bad way. They don't break apart until one of the pockets starts vibrating, and Troy goes, "Holy shit," before fishing out Ryan's phone and handing it to him, looking both sheepish and flushed.

"Uhm." Ryan clears his throat. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mr. Longest Bathroom Break in the History of the World. Were you planning on rejoining rehearsal anytime soon or are you ditching us for good? After all, it's not like you have an important role or anything – you're only the choreographer and one of the _stars_."

Ryan winces. "Sharpay," he mouths.

"I could tell," Troy whispers back.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry, I got… caught up in something," he explains evasively, and Troy cracks up so he shushes him.

"Are you with someone?" Sharpay demands, her voice tinny. "And where the hell _are_ you? You keep breaking up."

"It's 'cause I'm… running," Ryan lies. "Running back to the theater as we speak, Shar. I'll be there in like 30 seconds, okay?" He hangs up before she can argue.

"You got caught up in something?" Troy repeats, moving forward to touch Ryan's waist again, but Ryan twists away.

"Seriously, I have to _go_," Ryan says, but something in his body language is saying otherwise, and he knows Troy's picking up on it. He looks at the other boy pleadingly. "I… later, okay? Soon." He turns to leave, but Troy catches his wrist.

"Hey."

"What?" Troy just looks at him until he consents to kissing the basketballer quickly on the lips. "There, okay?"

"Much better." Troy grins, and his eyes sparkle. Ryan rolls his and heads up the stairs, at which point he really _does_ starts running. He doesn't want to be in any more trouble than he is already. By the time he slips backstage, Sharpay is already in the middle of one of her pieces, so he watches her from the wings.

"That was more like a minute and a half," Sharpay hisses to him out of the side of her mouth, and Darbus affixes her with a steely glare ("Eyes towards the _auditorium_, Miss Evans,") before Ryan slinks out of sight so as not to distract her any further, wiping his mouth furtively as he does so. His lips are still tingling pleasantly when his phone vibrates in his pocket again. He pulls it out and flips it open.

_that was fun, theater kid. same time 2moro?_

He's very conscious of people around him, so he tries to hide his ridiculously wide smile as he types back:

_bet on it_


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the week passes in a blur of class, homework and rehearsal, punctuated by short trysts with Troy behind the science labs. They are the highlight of Ryan's day. Wednesday evening, with his head lolling back against the wall as Troy adorns his neck with lavish kisses, he closes his eyes and fancies that this is bliss.

**xXx**

It doesn't really occur to Ryan that opening night is, you know, _tomorrow_, until he shows up for Thursday's rehearsal. The last-minute nerves are infectious and spreading rapidly, and he runs around like a chicken without a head for God knows how long before finally pausing enough to realize that there is no way he'll be able to sneak out and meet Troy tonight. He ducks into Sharpay's dressing room while she's onstage, sits down at her dresser and gives Troy a call.

"Theater kid! What's up?"

"Hey, listen, uh." He grabs one of Sharpay's nail files, just to keep his fingers busy. "I have some bad news."

"What do you mean?" The concern in Troy's voice is palpable. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, nothing like that," Ryan soothes, "just… things are going to be crazy tonight. It's crunch time, you know? Darbus is freaking out, everyone is freaking out. I don't think I'm going to be able to… _see_ you."

He knows nobody is within earshot because no-one else would _dare_ to come into Sharpay's dressing room without permission, but still doesn't want to go into any more detail. Neither he nor Troy talks about the specifics of what they do when they meet, not even to each other. Vague euphemisms and significant pauses are so much easier to deal with, and they both know what they're referring to anyway, so it just… it works well.

"That's fine, man. I figured something like this would happen. If I tried to walk out in the middle of practice, especially the day before a game… oh, jeez. My dad would go nuts. So would the guys, come to think of it, but he's just… you know. _Dad_."

"Yeah," Ryan says softly. They don't talk about Troy's father much either, but Ryan senses that there's something going on there, some underlying tension or schism of opinion. He figures Troy will talk about it eventually. "You'll be there tomorrow, though, right? You're still coming?"

"Ryan," Troy says in a very serious voice, "would I miss this? Do you really think I'd skip out on an obligation like this – especially to _you_?"

Ryan's not really sure how to take that last part so he just shrugs with the shoulder that isn't holding the phone up to his ear and says, "Nah. I'm just being paranoid. You know how it is."

"Yeah, well, you don't have anything to worry about when it comes to me, okay?"

"Okay." It's not like Troy has ever let him down or anything like that – in fact, the problem is that he's _too_ perfect, and Ryan can't quite believe this is real. If you'd told him a few months ago that he'd be… well, doing whatever this is with Troy Bolton, he would have laughed in your face (after you'd explained to him who Troy Bolton was, of course). "Listen, I really have to go, but." He hates this part. Sometimes he feels like he wants to say something stupid and mushy like "I'll miss you" or even worse, but luckily before he has too much time to think about it, Troy intercedes.

"Yeah, I don't wanna keep you if you have stuff to do. Good luck with everything."

"Thanks," Ryan responds. "And, hey, by Saturday I'll be done with all this. You're lucky it's one performance only, you know. I'm going to have so much more time when I don't have to rehearse every day. We'll be able to see each other more, and hang out after school, and like. The other stuff."

Troy laughs. "Yeah, man, I can't _wait_. Seriously though, you should go. Text me later?"

"Okay," Ryan agrees a little breathlessly, and says goodbye before hanging up and taking a deep breath. Talking to Troy always makes him jittery – not in a bad way, just in a very… emotionally invested way. It's like so many strong feelings are bottled up inside him, and contact with Troy threatens to make them spill over.

"Who was that?" comes a voice from behind him, and he jumps and drops the nail file onto the dresser in front of him with an almighty clatter.

"What do you mean? No-one! How long were you…?" He swallows. "Hi."

Sharpay folds her arms across her chest. "Don't 'hi' me. Why are you in my dressing room, and who were you talking to?"

"No-one. Just. Just Troy. He might be coming tomorrow, to see us, you know?"

"Oh, yeah? That's really cool. I asked Zeke to bug his friends about coming but I didn't think anyone would actually agree."

Ryan forces a laugh. "Well, I guess he must be really persistent."

Sharpay eyes her brother like she knows something's up but can't quite put her finger on the particulars. "What were you saying about not being able to see him? Like, why would you be seeing _Troy_ tonight? Practice finished half an hour ago."

"Yeah, he… was helping his dad with stuff. I was going to see if I could take some time to go hang out with him, but obviously, you know, final rehearsal and stuff, so. No."

"Hm. And this wouldn't have anything to do with you disappearing on us every night this week, would it?"

Ryan can feel himself tense up and wills the muscles in his face to relax. Sharpay's an actress. Non-verbal cues are her forte.

"No. Absolutely not, Shar, why would I? To see _Troy_? That makes no sense. We're not _that_ close."

"So where have you been going, then? Don't think I don't notice."

"I just need a _break_ sometimes, you know? Like, ten minutes to just relax, get something from the vending machine, grab some time to think, whatever."

"And you can't do that when everyone else takes _their_ break?"

Ryan glares at her. "I just want to be on my own sometimes, okay? I didn't realize it would be such a big deal."

"Okay, Ryan, don't get mad at me. I'm just asking."

He sighs. "I'm sorry, I'm just. I'm really stressed out. Opening night is _tomorrow_ and –"

"I know." She crosses the room and puts her hand on Ryan's back comfortingly. "Listen, you'll be great. You're always great. We're the Evans twins, okay? People _wish_ they were us."

"People wish they were _you_," Ryan corrects.

"Hey, Troy _Bolton_ hangs out with you, Ryan. He doesn't do that with just anyone, you know. He must really like you."

"Yeah." Ryan grins at her. "Yeah, I guess he must."

**xXx**

It isn't until Ryan's back home and sitting on his bed doing his homework that he realizes he forgot to text Troy. He taps out a hasty message of regret, and a few moments later, his phone rings.

"Hey, I'm so sorry."

"Truly, theater kid, it's okay. How did rehearsal go?"

"Actually, uh, we kind of have a problem. Sharpay overheard me talking to you. She's getting suspicious."

"Suspicious, how?"

"Like. She was asking questions about where I keep disappearing to, and whether it has to do with you. It was making me kind of nervous. She knows something's up, Troy. She can tell when I keep things from her."

Troy mulls over this for a few moments. "I don't think we need to worry about it," he says finally. "I mean, she can't prove anything, and this… whatever this is that we've got going on… it's so unlikely that I doubt she'd even think of it."

"Okay…" Ryan says, sounding unconvinced.

"It's fine, we'll just. We'll stay on the DL for a bit. Not give her any ammunition."

"We're doing that already, Troy," Ryan points out, and Troy sighs.

"Then we'll keep doing it, Ryan. What do you want me to say?" He sounds exasperated.

"Nothing, I just. I'm sorry. I get scared."

"I know," Troy says, his voice softer now. "But honestly, it's cool at the moment, okay? It's a non-issue. Don't think about it. Like, shouldn't you be stressing out about your opening night or whatever?"

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Don't _remind_ me. Rehearsal took _for ever_ today, but I think we managed to iron out most of the kinks. A couple of people missed their cues and there was a small disaster with one of the sets, but."

"What happened?"

Ryan laughs at the memory. "Basically this one backdrop was supposed to fly in but someone pressed the wrong thing and this other one came down that was completely inappropriate for the scene, so it was actually sort of funny, now that I think about it. It was minor, though. Overall things went pretty well."

"Wait, you have _flying sets_?"

Ryan cracks up. "Yeah, with little wings and everything. Of course not, Troy, that's just the term we use for when a big painted set is lowered from the flys."

"…Dude, you've completely lost me."

By now Ryan's laughing so hard that tears are starting to form in his eyes. "The spaces above and to the sides of the stage. They're called the flys."

"_Oh_. Okay, couldn't you have just _said_ that?"

"That would be like you referring to a lay-up as that weird little hop skip jump thing you do when you want to shoot a goal."

"You can't say 'shoot a _goal_,' Ryan, oh my _God_." Ryan can't see Troy but he knows the other boy is shaking his head in mock despair. "Haven't you been to enough games to have retained _something_ by now?"

"I'm always kind of distracted when I watch you play," Ryan tells him truthfully.

"By?"

"Um. You?"

Troy chuckles softly. "Oh. Well, yeah, I have to admit, there's a certain blond kid in the stands who serves as quite a, uh. Diversion."

Ryan grins. "Do I know him?"

"Very well."

"Is he hot?"

"_Extremely_."

The sudden heat on Ryan's face makes him realize something. "Um, you can't see me right now, but I'm totally blushing."

"I have that effect on all the boys," Troy says teasingly.

"Yeah, well. Tell them you're mine." Troy doesn't say anything after that, and Ryan bites his lip. "Troy?"

"Hey. Sorry."

The fear coils into a knot in Ryan's stomach, pulls tight and twists. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no, I just. You surprised me. I didn't think you wanted to talk about this."

"About what?"

"You know. _This_."

Ryan considers that, supposes they have to address it sooner or later, and sighs. He's never been good at dissecting his feelings and giving names to things, but he knows he really likes Troy, that he wouldn't want to lose him. So that's what he says.

Troy doesn't reply immediately, and Ryan starts to get nervous. If the other boy backs out now, he doesn't know _what_ he'll do. It's only then he realizes how deep into this he really is.

"I feel like that too," Troy says finally, quietly. "Like. It's so weird. Two months ago I didn't even know your _name_, you were just this kid who sat on Sharpay's car sometimes and read these huge-ass books with weird names."

Ryan smiles. "Such as?"

"_Secrets from the Center of the World_."

"That's Joy Harjo. It's about Navajo country, you know? I keep asking Sharpay to drive me but she never has the time."

"Is that why you asked me to take you out there?"

"Yeah," Ryan says sheepishly. "I'm a dork, I know."

"No, no, it's cool." Troy makes a noise like he's resettling himself, and then says, "Tell me about it."

"The book or the place?"

"Both. Everything."

Ryan shifts on his bed, leans over the side of it and peers at his bookshelf. "Uh… hmm. I was going to say I can do you one better and actually read some of it to you, but I can't find it."

"Damn."

"I have another one of her books, though?"

"Sure."

Ryan reaches out, teeters slightly but manages to grab the book in the end. "Okay, let me just…" he says, flipping through until he finds the poem he's looking for. "You ready?"

"Ready."

Ryan clears his throat. "_There are sixty-five miles/of telephone wire/between acoma/and albuquerque/i dial the number/and listen for the sound/of his low voice/on the other side/_hello_/is a gentle motion of a western wind/cradling tiny purple flowers/that grow near the road/toward laguna/i smell them/as i near the rio puerco bridge/my voice stumbles/returning over sandstone/as it passes the canoncito exit/_i have missed you_he says/the rhythm circles the curve/of mesita cliffs/to meet me/but my voice is caught/shredded on a barbed wire fence/at the side of the road/and flutters soundless/in the wind._" He pauses briefly then says unnecessarily, "That's it."

"I like that," Troy breathes, and Ryan can't quite figure out what it is but somehow his voice sounds different. "Can you…" his breath hitches, "read me another one?"

"Okay," Ryan replies, puzzled but pleased at Troy's request. "_I think of the lush stillness of the end of a world, sung into place by singers and the rattle of turtles in the dark morning./When embers from the sacred middle are climbing out the other side of stars./When the moon has stomp-danced with us from one horizon to the next, such a soft awakening./Our souls imitate lights in the Milky Way. We've always known where to go to become ourselves again in the human comedy./It's the how that baffles. A saxophone can complicate things./You knew this, as do all musicians when the walk becomes a necessary dance to fuel the fool heart,/Or the single complicated human becomes a wave of humanness and forgets to be ashamed of making the wrong step./I'm talking about an early morning in Brooklyn, the streets the color of ashes, do you see the connection?/It's not as if the stars forsake us, we forget about them, or remake the pattern in a field of white crystal or of some other tricky fate./We never mistook ourselves for anything but human./The wings of the Milky Way lead back to the singers. And there's the saxophone again./It's about rearranging the song to include the subway hiss under your feet in Brooklyn./And the laugh of a bear who thought he was a human./And he plays that tune again, the one about the wobble of the earth spinning so damned hard/it_hurts."

"God," Troy mumbles. "Fuck. Okay."

"…Troy, what's going on?" Ryan asks innocently.

"Nothing, nothing." Troy coughs. "Seriously, Ryan. Nothing."

Ryan recognizes the tone in the other boy's voice, remembers that time Sharpay walked in on him when he was… and God, how embarrassing, because he totally said he was doing something else but he could tell she didn't believe him and they haven't brought it up since but he's never forgotten. "Troy, are you…?"

"No," Troy says firmly, then, "…maybe."

"Oh, wow." Ryan's half uncomfortable and half _really_ turned on, but he doesn't quite know what to do about it. "I've never, like… with someone else."

"It's okay," Troy reassures, and he sounds like he means it. "I don't expect you to… you know. You don't have to."

"I don't know _how_," Ryan whimpers, frustrated with himself, aroused and kind of scared.

"Just talk to me," the other boy says quietly. "Trust me, it's enough."

"Um. Okay. What…" Ryan has no clue what he's doing here. Like, none whatsoever. "What about?"

"Anything," Troy says, and it's almost a groan. Ryan can imagine what he's doing now, and it's almost _obscene_ how hot the image is.

"Troy, I don't think I -"

"Stop _thinking_ about it," Troy grinds out. "Ryan, you can have this effect on me without even trying, so stop trying. Read me another poem or something, if it helps."

"I. Okay." Ryan's nervous now. His heart's beating really fast and his hand is shaking as he flips through the pages. "_This is my heart. It is a good heart./Bones and a membrane of mist and fire are the woven cover./When we make love in the flower world/my heart is close enough to sing/to yours in a language that has no use/for clumsy human words…"_ By the time he reaches the last stanza, Troy is making audible noises, tiny gasps and little moans, and Ryan senses he's close. _"This is my song. It is a good song./It walked forever the border of fire and water/climbed ribs of desire to my lips to sing to you./Its new wings quiver with vulnerability./Come lie next to me, says my –_"

Troy gasps loudly enough to make Ryan stop reading, but his intake of breath is abruptly truncated. There is complete silence for a few seconds and then a _long_ exhalation followed by a rather satisfied noise.

Ryan doesn't know what to do. "Uh. Hello? Troy?"

"Mm," Troy replies, and he sounds almost sleepy. "Theater kid. Give a guy a second."

"Sorry," Ryan says. His cheeks are burning and suddenly he has no idea what to do with his hands. He picks up the book again and stares at it, waits.

"Ryan," Troy says eventually. "What was. What was the rest of the poem?"

Ryan isn't quite sure what he was expecting to come out of Troy's mouth, but he knows that wasn't it. "Um. One second. It was almost done." He scrabbles through the pages. "Okay: _Come lie next to me, says my heart./Put your head here./It is a good thing, says my soul._"

Troy laughs huskily. "I like that. I like that ending."

"Me too," …and Ryan has absolutely no idea what to say next. "Listen, I. Did you, I mean, I know you did – I think – but. Um. How was it? Ugh, that sounds stupid, Troy, I'm sorry if that's too–"

"Hey," Troy says lazily, and it's at that point Ryan decides that he quite likes this side of Troy, all sated and mellow and kind of blissed out. "I came. Hard. It felt good and yeah, I liked it. You have the sexiest voice on the face of the planet, so you know. Please stop being awkward because even though it's awfully cute, you have nothing to apologize for."

Ryan's mouth goes completely dry and now he _really_ doesn't know what to say because he's an excruciating mix of turned on, mortified, and really, ridiculously flattered.

"Permission to speak," Troy says eventually, with a laugh in his voice, "even if you have nothing of substance to say."

Ryan feels stupid, but complies. "Uh. Hey."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, I. Just. Wow."

"Yeah." Troy sounds like he's smiling. "Are you – I mean, would you like me to…?"

It takes Ryan a second to understand what's really being said, and when he does he blushes to the roots of his hair. "I. No, I'm, I mean, not that you're not, uhm. You know, but."

"It's okay, theater kid," and the return to the familiar nickname is enough to make Ryan start to calm down. "Really, if you're not ready, it's cool."

"It's not that I'm not ready," Ryan says, feeling like the biggest baby that ever was, "it's just, it's big." He realizes what he's said too late, and rushes so fast to cover his mistake that the words twist together in his mouth. "I mean – not like that – I. Urgh."

"Yeah?" Troy asks, and he's got that faintly mocking tone now, the one he used the first time they ever spoke, and _that's_ something Ryan knows how to respond to.

"Hey, _you're_ the one who's supposed to be incoherent, 'cause I just made you, uh. Come," and wow, he actually said what he meant for once. His face is so hot it feels like it's on fire, but when it comes down to it he feels pretty good about the whole thing. Honestly, he's glad this happened.

"I – shit, wait a second," Troy says. There's a frantic rustling on the other end of the line, the clunk of a phone being put down on a bedside table, and a distant, somewhat muted, "Hey, mom."

"Oh, _no_." Ryan doesn't think it's possible to blush any harder, but this? This does it.

"Just Ryan, mom … Math homework … Yeah, don't worry, I'm almost done … Okay, I love you too. Goodnight." There's another bout of rustling, a hissed expletive and then Troy is back on the line. "Don't even, theater kid," he threatens, and just his _tone_ is enough to make Ryan burst into peals of hysterical laughter. This whole thing is utterly ridiculous and amazing and how, _how_ has it become his life? "So, hey," Troy says finally, and by now he's chuckling too. "Like. That broke the mood."

"Kind of," Ryan says, still giggling.

"Are you sure you don't want to…?"

"Yeah. Yeah, honestly. But I will, sometime, if you want to… uh, too."

"Okay," Troy says gently, "but no pressure, theater kid, I mean it. I want you to be completely cool with it. And, um. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Ryan responds automatically, and the absurdity of the situation strikes him all over again because nobody's ever thanked him for doing _that_ before.

"Are we, like… okay?" the other boy asks, and he sounds all worried, as if he thinks he might have pushed Ryan into this. Ryan wants to laugh at how off the mark he is.

"We're totally okay," he assures. "Like. Really. If it makes you feel any better, I'll…" (Ryan can't believe he's about to say this but for once he decides to go ahead and just do it without overanalyzing) "I'll remember this, you know, when I... um."

"Mmm," Troy says when he realizes Ryan isn't going to finish his sentence, and the noise itself is enough to make Ryan shiver. "I'll, uh, leave you to it then, 'cause my parents are going to bed and I kind of have to get off the phone, but seriously. Thanks, I… have fun, yeah?"

"I will," Ryan says softly. "And I'll think of _you_ when." He bites his lip. "Goodnight, Troy."

"Goodnight, Ryan."

Ryan closes his phone and lies on his back, spread-eagled with his eyes closed. Before he really knows what he's doing, his right hand is sneaking down towards his belt and he's tugging at it, loosening it, delving in and _ahhh_. He pumps himself swiftly, arching into the motions as he recalls the noises that traveled down the phone line. "Troy…" he gasps, jerking upwards in spasms. It feels so good that he loses touch with who he is and falls asleep in his clothes, the other boy's name still on his lips.

**xXx**

When Ryan's alarm clock goes off the next morning, he doesn't know where he is at first, doesn't remember falling asleep. Only half awake, he rolls onto his side and his right hand brushes his pant leg in the process. The coarse, rough fabric is very different to his usual nighttime attire and his eyelashes fly open as the memories of last night come flooding back.

No sooner has he got himself together and changed into a new set of clothes, Sharpay knocks impatiently at his door.

"Ryan? _Ryan_! Are you ready? Are you excited? I can't believe it's today!"

Ryan frowns. "Can't believe what's…?" he starts to ask, but has the good fortune to catch sight of his calendar before finishing the sentence. There, under "Friday," he's written "OPENING NIGHT!" in bright green biro, underlined three times with a pink marker. "Oh, Sharpay, it's _today_!"

"Can I come in?"

"Come in, come in!"

She cracks the door and the twins take one look at each other and just _shriek_. Performance days always have an amazing energy about them right from the get-go, especially opening nights.

They're both too nervous to eat, but Ryan grabs a granola bar on the way out of the door. He almost forgets his cell phone _and_ his chemistry textbook, but both siblings ultimately end up piling into Sharpay's convertible without incident.

Ryan's on autopilot today – everything he learns in class goes in one ear and out the other because he's too busy going over and over his lines, his steps, everyone _else's_ steps. He and Sharpay are on their way out of the cafeteria (not that either of them can eat, but they wanted to grab drinks before their unofficial lunchtime rehearsal in the auditorium) when he sees Troy out of the corner of his eye. Troy's with Chad and they're laughing about something, but once he notices Ryan, his expression changes. He excuses himself politely and comes right over.

"Hey, Sharpay. Hey, Ryan."

"Hi, Troy!" Sharpay chirps, and Ryan echoes her a little uncomfortably because it's the first time they've seen each other since… yeah, and his _sister's_ here, and it's really, really awkward.

"So, how did it go last night?" Troy inquires, and Ryan wants to _die_ until the basketballer smirks at him and specifies, "You know, with the final rehearsal?"

Sharpay takes this as her cue to launch into a long-winded description of every trial and tribulation, while Ryan and Troy just look each other up and down and pretend that they're listening. "And Ryan says you're _coming_, Troy," she continues (Ryan chokes on his juice box) "which is just _fabulous_ because the dramatic arts really do need more support from the sporting contingent."

Troy is nodding seriously, acting like he's actually interested in the damn play when Ryan's pretty sure he'd be hard pressed to even recall the title. "I'll come, for sure," he affirms, eyeing Ryan wickedly just as Chad calls him back over. "Okay, right now I've gotta jet, but I'll totally see you both tonight. Break a leg, or whatever."

"Yeah, see you," Ryan replies, very conscious of Sharpay beside him. He waves slightly, surreptitiously aiming an invisible death glare at the back of Troy's head once the other boy has turned around, sure that Troy is perfectly aware of this and is in fact probably still wearing that annoying(ly sexy) grin in spite of it. He rolls his eyes and turns to his sister.

"Hey, don't we have a rehearsal to get to?"

**xXx**

Curtain is at 7, and it's 6:45. Most of the audience members are in their seats by now, and the auditorium is filled with the buzz of small talk. The orchestra – a rather grand term for what is really no more than a handful of band geeks captained by the head of the music department – is tuning up just in front of the stage when Ryan peeps out of the crack in the heavy velvet, trying to spot Troy.

"Hey, theater kid, what's poppin'?"

He almost jumps out of his skin to hear Troy's voice behind him. "How did you get _in_ here?" he hisses. "Troy, it's T-minus _fifteen_."

"I'm Troy Bolton," the other boy says with a shrug. "I smile at someone, they let me pass – no questions asked. Oh, and if you see Sharpay walking around with half a bouquet of acacia flowers, uh. That would be my fault."

Ryan blinks at him. "What?"

"Okay, see…" Troy shuffles his feet, shifts his weight and generally looks extremely ill at ease. One of his hands is behind his back, which is weird for him because most of the time he either talks with them both or lets them hang loosely by his sides. "Here's the thing."

"Troy." Ryan glances at his watch. "You have fourteen minutes. Tell me quickly, or don't tell me at all."

"Fine." Troy sighs. "Okay, so, I wanted to get you something, like, for good luck or whatever, so I ended up Googling, um, the meanings of different kinds of flowers," (Ryan bites his lip to stop himself from laughing) "and the first site that came up said acacia stood for… well, not good luck but something I thought fit just as well, so I drove to, uh… you know that place? Down by the gas station? The flower place?"

"The florist?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's the word. Anyway, so I got there and I guess an acacia is like, a tree or something, so they didn't just _have_ one to hand, but they said there were some at the botanical gardens, you know, near the country club? And I had some extra time, right, so I drove down there and I was like, 'Hey, do you guys have acacia trees?' and they were like, 'Yeah, totally,' so… long story short, I found the acacia trees and then it occurred to me that I couldn't really, you know, grab the flowers in front of everyone, so I waited until nobody else was around and just broke off this whole… well, okay, it wasn't really a _branch_, more of a large twig, but –"

"Troy."

"Hm?"

"Are..." Ryan can feel his face growing red from the effort of holding back his laughter. "Are you serious right now?"

Troy sighs again. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Did you get _caught_?"

"Fortunately, no." He takes a deep breath before continuing on with his tale. "So, anyway, I get here, come backstage, whatever. You're nowhere to be found, and Sharpay comes up to me and she's like, 'What do you have behind your back?' and I'm like, 'Oh, nothing,' but…"

Ryan winces and shakes his head. "That's the worst thing you could possibly have said to her."

"Yeah, well, thanks for the warning, but I could've used it like ten minutes ago when she basically strong-armed the flowers out of my hands and was all, 'Are those for _me_?' and I didn't want to be like, 'Um, no, they're for your brother,' you know, 'cause. Weird. So I told her they were for good luck, gave her half and said I wanted to give the rest to the other girls I know who are in the play, and then she said okay and kind of… dismissed me like she does, and started doing this weird, like… thing with her _mouth_ -"

"Vocal warm-ups," Ryan explains.

"Whatever it was, it was freaky. But, yeah, the point is, Sharpay has half and you have half, but she doesn't _know_ that, so. Here."

He removes the hand from behind his back and holds out his slightly disheveled-looking offering. The flowers are yellow and delicate and kind of look… well, like they just got picked off a tree, but as far as Ryan is concerned, they're the most beautiful gift he's ever been given.

"Thank you so much," he breathes, stunned at Troy's thoughtfulness and how out of his way the other boy had to go to make this happen. "They're – they're beautiful, thank you."

Troy looks vastly relieved. "I wasn't sure if we were doing this kind of stuff, but I really wanted you to know that I support you and whatever, and." He looks at the floor, toes the bottom of the curtain, and finishes, "I'm sorry I'm rambling, I – I'm glad you like them."

Ryan beams at him and hugs him tightly. They haven't really _done_ the whole hugging thing so it comes as sort of a surprise to both of them, and Troy just stands there for an awkward moment before wrapping his arms around the other boy and whispering, "Good luck tonight, okay?" into Ryan's ear and Ryan nods into his shoulder, inhaling the scent that is strictly, truly Troy.

The next thing they know it's five minutes to curtain and Darbus bursts in, clapping her hands and calling, "Places!" Most of the cast members follow and Troy springs away from Ryan, freezing like a deer caught in headlights.

"Uhm. Hey, Ms. Darbus."

She looks him up and down and puts her hands on her hips, arching an eyebrow. "Will you be joining us for tonight's performance, Mr. Bolton?"

"Yeah, um." Troy wilts, knowing the jock charisma he usually falls back on holds no power over her. "From the audience."

"In that case, would you perhaps like to get yourself situated before the curtain goes up? Unless of course you've decided to join the ranks of the thespian?"

"That'd. Yeah, no, that'd be a good idea, Ms. Darbus. Uh, the first thing. Good luck, Ryan, everyone." He nods to the cast at large.

"Thanks," Ryan responds with a grin, watching Troy wend his way through the mass of people between him and the door that leads to the auditorium. He'd wisely slipped the flowers behind his back as soon as Darbus entered and quickly hurries backstage, where he jams them into his rucksack and resolves to look up the meaning of the acacia flower as soon as he can get to a computer. Right now though, he's got a show to do.


	4. Chapter 4

Ryan's pretty sure the audience reaction was positive. He vaguely recalls a standing ovation at the end of the performance, along with brief flashes of Sharpay grinning widely as Zeke threw her some roses (acacias are better), but mostly… mostly he remembers Troy. He's ashamed to say he barely even glanced at his parents, but whenever he was onstage his eyes were drawn to Troy's like a magnet. Troy was loving it, sending him all these subtle nods and winks that would have put him off if they didn't charge him with enough adrenaline to make up for any missteps with a boundlessly energetic delivery.

Yes, the whole night is little more than a blur to Ryan, with the exception of several frames of memory that spool over and over in his mind – curtain call, his final bow, and Troy getting up from his seat to whistle through his fingers.

**xXx**

Somehow it's escaped Ryan's notice, but apparently the cast party is going to be held at the Evans' house. Again. When he squawks his protestations to Sharpay, she says mildly, "It's always at our house, Ryan. Our house is the biggest," and sashays off to find Zeke, leaving Ryan standing behind her hopelessly, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"Theater kid," comes a voice from behind him, and as Ryan turns, he gets more than a vague sense of déjà vu. "You were _awesome_."

"Thanks," he replies shyly, allowing Troy to envelop him in another hug, albeit a much more impersonal one (there are other people around, after all).

"You never told me you could dance like that!" the basketballer exclaims, stepping back. "Teaching me must have seemed, like, freaking _remedial_ for you."

"It's okay." Ryan smiles. "It was fun."

Troy grins back at him. "So, listen, I heard there was a cast party tonight. Are you going, or?"

"I guess, given that it's at my _house_," Ryan replies grumpily, but with Troy in front of him, he knows he can't keep the smile off his face for long.

"Sharpay?"

"Of course."

Troy sighs. "I suppose you can't really get out of this one."

"Ugh," Ryan responds, a grudging, wordless affirmative. He's in it for the performing, not the socialization component that comes afterwards. Only one thing can make this better. "Did you, uh… want to join me?"

Troy raises his eyebrows. "Isn't it like, a special actors-only thing? I heard Sharpay making a big deal about that earlier."

"Actors and _techies_," Ryan corrects, managing to look away from Troy for just long enough to notice that Sharpay has come backstage again, "and yeah, it's supposed to be, but like you said, no-one's going to say no to Troy Bolton. Watch. Hey, _Shar_!"

Sharpay looks up. "Ryan, unless you've reconsidered your refusal to pass out the hors d'oeuvres, I don't have time right now."

"Troy wants to come to our cast party."

Her mouth drops open. "He… why?" She casts a suspicious glance at the boy in question, and the expression on her face clearly indicates that she thinks this is some sort of trick.

Ryan opens his mouth to respond but Troy interrupts with a pointed, "Hey, I'm right _here_," before continuing, "I don't know, it sounds like fun. I know you don't normally allow non-theater types, but I don't want Zeke to have to represent all by himself. He's going, right?"

Sharpay beams. "Of course. Um, yeah, you're welcome to come." With that, she whips out her pink cell phone and walks off, calling "I'll let everyone know!" over her shoulder.

Troy turns back to Ryan and dusts off his shoulders. "Sometimes, I love being me."

**xXx**

Ryan doesn't think there have ever been so many people in his house at one time. Once word had spread that Troy Bolton was going to be at the cast party, the guest list seemingly tripled in a ridiculously short amount of time. Sharpay's trying to keep it to actors, techies, and their very best friends/significant others, but the trouble is that somehow everyone suddenly seems to have connections to the show, which Ryan highly doubts can be true. There are kids here who won't even look at him in the hallways.

"Don't these people have _lives_?" he mutters to Sharpay. "Like, do they sit and wait for someone to call and tell them which party Troy's at so they can crash it?"

Sharpay frowns at him and picks up a mini quiche from the plate of hors d'oeuvres he's somehow been coerced into holding, despite repeated refusals. "No, they just… he's Troy_Bolton_. It's exciting."

"He's just a _guy_," Ryan exclaims, exasperated. This is not strictly true – at least not from where he's standing – but the mindless hero worship that goes on at East High really does get on his nerves. If people liked Troy for being Troy it'd be different, but it seems like most of them have no more than a superficial relationship with him and only really pay attention because he's the captain of the basketball team - and, you know, hot.

"Who's just a guy?" comes Troy's voice as he strolls out of the kitchen.

"You have got to stop doing that," Ryan mutters. "And you, actually."

"Oh, am I?" Troy inquires airily. "Sharpay, what flavors are these quiches?"

"Bacon and leek, quiche Lorraine, and crabmeat and parmesan," she replies, pointing to each type in turn. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to check on the preparations for the chocolate fountain." Ryan rolls his eyes but Troy executes a small bow as she leaves, then picks up one of each kind of quiche.

"Thank you, sir," he tells Ryan with a mocking grin, scarfing them down like he hasn't eaten in weeks even though Ryan definitely saw him devour, like, six finger sandwiches from the platter on the dining room table. "Really though, in a mansion like this, shouldn't you be ordering servants to do this stuff for you?"

Ryan tuts. "I forgot you'd never been inside my house before. Look, my parents… have money, okay? And they kind of flaunt it. I'm not really like that, I just like to dress well, that's all. Kids can be really different from their parents sometimes."

"Yeah," Troy concedes, and the animation seems suddenly to have leached out of his expression. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"Hey." Ryan had forgotten about the tension between Troy and Coach Bolton, and now he wants to kick himself. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be…"

"Not your fault, theater kid," Troy says ruefully, plastering the smile back on his face – although now it doesn't look so easy.

Ryan smiles uncertainly back but doesn't say anything, and they both just sort of stand side-by-side for a while, scanning the room and nodding to people they know. (Troy nods a lot more than Ryan.)

"You know," Troy says finally, "I showed up because I thought I'd be able to…" he lowers his voice, "spend some time with you, but people are freaking _everywhere_."

"That's generally what happens at parties," Ryan responds, amused, and Troy gives him a Look. "Okay, I guess we could sneak up to my room for a little while, but not too long, alright? Sharpay will notice."

"Yeah, we can't leave the mini quiches unattended," Troy retorts sarcastically. "Listen… you go up first, okay?"

"Okay." Ryan gets it, he does, but it still sucks to know that he has to be kept a secret. He nods in the direction of the staircase. "Second to the right," he directs, and Troy tilts his head.

"Like Neverland?"

It takes a second for Ryan to get it, but when he does, he chuckles a little. "No, like my room."

Troy looks glad to have made him laugh. "I'll come up in five."

**xXx**

The basketballer whistles under his breath as he opens the door to Ryan's room a short while later. "Dude, my entire house could fit in here."

Ryan shoots him a half-smile and eases into a sitting position on his bed, dangling his legs over the edge. He wishes he wasn't this awkward.

"Okay, theater kid, what's wrong?"

…Or this transparent.

"Nothing. I'm fine, just." He fiddles with his hair, touches the place on the side of his forehead where he thought he felt a zit developing earlier, winces. "I don't understand what you see in me, Troy. You have all these girls coming after you who are so much _better_, and you'd be able to walk down the hallways at school holding hands, and tell your friends about being together, and –"

"Stop it," Troy says, walking over to the bed. He kneels down in front of Ryan and kisses him firmly. "Just stop. I don't care about any of that. I don't mind having to keep this quiet."

Ryan looks unconvinced. "But –"

"I see things in you that I haven't found in anyone else, okay?" Troy interrupts. "The way you dance, and the expression you get on your face when you're reading, and the fact that you laugh at all of my dumb jokes even though we both know they're not funny." Ryan can't help but smile. "God," Troy continues, more to himself than to Ryan. "I'm, like." He presses his lips to the corner of Ryan's mouth and murmurs, "I'm turning into a girl," against the other boy's skin.

"You're not," Ryan says and lifts his hand to tug gently on this chunk of hair that always hangs down over Troy's forehead. "But you do need a haircut."

Troy snorts and lays his head in the other boy's lap, cheek brushing Ryan's thigh. It feels intimate but not threatening. Ryan threads his fingers through the other boy's hair and for a while, the two of them are just quiet together.

**xXx**

They end up spending most of the night in Ryan's room, just talking and hanging out. Sharpay doesn't seem to have missed them. It's been kind of… _tense_ the past few days, what with the final rehearsal and the performance and everything, so it's nice for them both to have some downtime. Ryan marvels at how different Troy is when they're alone – it was like he was under a microscope downstairs, to the point where it's kind of weird to see him so relaxed now.

They've been watching something mindless on TV, stretched out on Ryan's bed on their stomachs, when Troy suddenly says, "Hey, you put the acacias in water."

Ryan glances over at his desk. "Of course. As soon as I got home. I really like them."

"Yeah, they look nice."

"That's not why I like them," Ryan says, and Troy catches his eye and grins.

"Did you get a chance to look up what they mean yet?"

"I…" Ryan eyes Troy suspiciously. "How did you know I was going to do that?"

"Had a feeling."

"Hm. Well, no, actually. It's been kind of hectic today, you know? I basically got home, ran up here to change and the next thing I knew, Sharpay was yelling at me to come hold mini quiches," he says with a shrug.

Troy laughs. "Do you want to know?"

"Of course!"

"Okay, so there are two meanings. The first is platonic love," (Ryan's face falls) "and the second is, uh. Well, the site said 'concealed love.' Like, secret, you know?"

"So?" Ryan has butterflies in his stomach and he has no idea how he became one of _those people_ who get all hung up on what someone else thinks of them, but to be honest, he's there. "Which one did you mean?"

"The second?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I'm telling you, I was just… I don't know, I was wondering if that was cool."

"It _is_ secret, isn't it? Like… didn't we just talk about that?"

Troy swallows, and his expression becomes very serious. "Not that part, the other part. Not that I – you know, yet, but, you're important to me. I want you to know that."

The butterflies morph into eagles as Ryan figures out what the other boy is talking about. "I don't know," he says slowly. "I mean, it's too soon to say, um… _that_ at the moment, but I think... I think it could happen, maybe, in the future. Like, if we stuck with it. If you, you know. Wanted to."

Troy grins. "You know I do, Ryan. I get that we kind of talked about it last night but then we…"

"Got distracted?"

"You could say that." Troy laughs a bit self-consciously. "Hey, do you… do you seriously, like, still think you're not, uh." He shoots the other boy a significant look. "Powder blue?"

Ryan would have laughed at the reference, but the implication behind the question bothers him. "What did I tell you about how much I hate labels?"

"No, I know, and I'm not trying to label you, Ryan, honest, I just. I don't know, I – I suppose what I'm getting at is… why are you doing this? Like. Like, you asked me what I see in you, but what do you see in _me_?"

It's weird to see Troy being anything less than completely confident. Kind of disconcerting, actually. Ryan doesn't quite know what to do with it. "I like you," he says, and shrugs. He knows Troy's looking for more than that but can't quite seem to articulate what he wants to say.

"I like you too. A lot. Look, it's been a long time since I felt this way about anyone, and that… that didn't end so well, and I know it's lame to keep something like this secret, which was kind of what – what ended it for me last time, and it really, really sucked, Ryan, okay, so I just."

Ryan sighs, then grabs the remote control and turns off the TV. This is probably not the kind of conversation to be having while "Most Daring" or "Most Shocking" (he can't tell the difference) is blaring in the background. He thinks back to when truTV was still courtTV and there was actual, you know, _true crime_ and not all that beach patrol bullshit. He considers mentioning this but senses it'd be inappropriate. "What happened?"

Troy closes his eyes for a second, like he's psyching himself up or something. It's obviously hard for him to talk about, although he really looks like he wants to. "I was, uh, a sophomore. There was this kid on the team – a senior. He was the captain at the time, dating one of the popular girls, whatever whatever, and… one day after practice, we were like, the only two people left in the locker room, right? So, we were talking, and. He kissed me."

"Wow." Ryan raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah. I don't know, at first I thought it was a one-off but then it happened again, and again after that. For a while... well, it was weird. He'd ignore me in the hallways and barely talk to me during practice, but afterwards he'd hang around until everyone else had changed and left, and then we'd make out against the lockers."

"Wait, but he wouldn't acknowledge you anywhere else?" Ryan shakes his head. "That's shitty."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was. And, like. I don't know, I knew it wasn't how things should be but I didn't want to stand up to him because he was older and I really looked up to him as our team captain or whatever, so I just kind of let him... do what he wanted. Anyway, a couple of days before graduation, I asked him if he wanted to stay in touch, 'cause by then I really liked him, you know? And he said sorry, he had a girlfriend and he wasn't a fag."

Ryan is completely confused. "…But he kissed you first."

"I know. He liked me too – I mean, really liked me. I could just tell. But I guess he wasn't willing to admit it." Troy sighs. "Chad's older brother is friends with him. He says he's still with the same girl. They went to the same college and everything. They're getting married next year."

"That sucks," Ryan says because he doesn't know how else to respond. He feels really bad that that happened. Like, he didn't even know Troy back then, but he kind of wishes he did just so all this between them would have happened earlier and he could've saved Troy all that heartache. "I… I won't do that to you, okay? I promise."

"I never thought you would," Troy says seriously. "I know you're not an asshole, just. It's kind of a big thing to deal with if you haven't figured out who you are yet, you know? I didn't want to get really into this only to have you freak out and back away, although it's. It's sort of too late."

Ryan frowns. "I'm not backing away."

"No, I mean... I'm already really into it."

Ryan's a little in love with how vulnerable Troy looks right now. He never would've imagined that the cocky jock who teased him for not catching a basketball that time in the parking lot would ever have ended up in his room, on his bed, making this confession. Ryan hugs him then because he truly can't resist, and it's kind of awkward because he's twisted uncomfortably on his stomach and Troy's sort of balanced on his side, but neither of them really minds all that much.

"It's okay. I'm. I'm kind of really into it too," Ryan says honestly, head resting against Troy's shoulder. "I just… I know what I'm attracted to, I'm – I'm sure about that, but I feel like after I accept it I have to do all this other stuff like come out to my family and my friends or whatever, and I sort of can't face that so I'm like, putting it off."

"It's none of their business," Troy says firmly, pulling away to look Ryan in the eye. "You don't have to talk to them about it if you don't want to."

"But then it's like I'm living a lie."

"It's better than lying to yourself," Troy counters, and Ryan considers this for a moment. He's never really thought about it that way before.

"I guess. I guess, yeah. No, that makes sense."

"The way I see it… the people I keep in touch with after high school, they're my true friends, you know? I'll find a way to tell them, and most likely, they'll be cool with it, because they're cool people. That's what I like to think, anyway. Besides, I wouldn't expect the person I was with to have to deal with all the fallout from being in a… in this kind of relationship in high school, especially with someone like me. It's not fair."

"I'm really sorry," Ryan says. Somehow he feels responsible for this – like it's his fault for being a guy, or something – and Troy shakes his head.

"Don't be. I just want to enjoy being with you without people watching our every move and making a big deal about it because of who I am." He rolls his eyes. "It's dumb. It's really fucking dumb, and I mean, I love it most of the time because hi, popularity, but with a situation like this it can be really inconvenient."

Ryan shyly reaches out to touch the other boy's hand reassuringly. "It's cool, Troy. I just hated feeling like you were ashamed of me."

Troy smiles slightly and shakes his head. "Believe me, theater kid, I'm not ashamed."

There's a brief, awkward pause and then Ryan leans in towards Troy and closes his eyes, because it really feels like the right thing to do. Troy kisses him tenderly, rests a hand on his hip and squeezes lightly.

"So… you really want to be with me? For real, you want to do this whole, like. Me and you thing?"

"We've kind of been an 'us' for a while, when you think about it," Ryan muses, figuring things out as he speaks. "I don't come to all your games because I'm some kind of sports fanatic, you know?"

"Yeah, and I didn't show up to your play 'cause I was interested in, uh… who wrote it, again?"

"You're hopeless," Ryan tells him, shaking his head, and Troy delivers one of his adorably crooked smiles.

"But I'm yours, theater kid."

"Yeah," Ryan replies, tapping Troy's nose just because he thinks it's cute when the other boy scrunches it. "Yeah, same here."

**xXx**

There's a level of security that comes with this new step – a degree of, dare Ryan even think it, commitment, and some of the pressure lifts off his shoulders. Their kisses aren't as rushed, as tense or as rough, and Ryan feels like he's getting the chance to be with Troy in a way he never has before.

It's Monday again, and he has Troy up against the wall behind the science labs, kissing and nipping at his neck, collarbone and earlobes, when he discovers a small freckle just behind the base of Troy's ear. He feels like he's found treasure in a secret place no-one else knows about, and kisses it hard before Troy touches his chin and twines their tongues together. It's sloppy but careful, slow but passionate. Troy's hand is resting on Ryan's waist and Ryan never wants him to let go, but it occurs to him that he should really check the time because they don't want to be late for homeroom. After mild resistance, Troy lets him, and they're shocked to realize that they've not only missed homeroom but also five minutes of first period. Troy starts laughing as he re-buttons the top of his shirt, and it's such a wonderful sound to Ryan. As they're ascending the old staircase, he smiles just because, and they hold hands right up until they know they're about to be seen.


End file.
